


Sweethearts

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Time Skip, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sharing a Bed, only one bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: Raphael and Bernadetta are dispatched to a tiny village to take care of a Demonic Beast. Regarded as heroes, they are invited to stay the night as a gesture of gratitude.The problem? There's only one bed.xPost-TS, Post-War Raphadetta.
Relationships: Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	Sweethearts

The elderly woman takes one of Raphael's enormous hands into her own and pats it affectionately. "Won't you two stay and rest for the night? It's not much, but it's the least we can offer you for saving our little village from that terrible creature." 

  
"Aww, ma'am, it was nothing," Raphael replies, his eyes soft and fond. 

  
"I insist," the woman says, reaching out a wrinkled hand to Bernadetta. "Come now, what do you say, my dear?"

  
Bernadetta blinks at the sudden attention. "S-sorry, do you mean me?" she splutters, eyes flying to Raphael for help. When he turns his gaze to her, her eyes immediately land on the gash he sustained protecting her from the Demonic Beast's attack. The injury itself is nothing serious, but it's the memory of him taking the brunt of the damage that gives her pause. 

  
"S-sure, of course," Bernadetta musters finally, hands twisting in her tunic. "Just for the night."

  
The woman's warm brown eyes crinkle with gratitude. "Wonderful."

* * *

The bed in the guest room turns out to be quite small, certainly not fit for a person of Raphael's size.

  
"Um...the bed..." 

  
"S'alright, Bernadetta. I don't mind sleeping on the floor," he says, shooting her a reassuring grin. "Really, take it."

  
"Are you sure?" 

  
"Yeah, of course!"

  
"At least take these," Bernadetta insists, stripping the small bed of an extra pillow and blanket. She holds them out to Raphael, and with a smile, he takes them. 

  
"Thanks, Bernadetta. Appreciate that."

  
"It's nothing," she says, cheeks warming. As Raphael sets himself up for slumber, Bernadetta cannot help but worry over the gash in his forehead. "Does it still hurt?"

  
Raphael lifts his head from the pillow, hand flying to his forehead. "Oh, this? Nah, it's fine. Can barely feel it."

  
Bernadetta chews her bottom lip, not quite able to bring herself to believe him. A braver Bernie would crawl right up to him and tend to it regardless of how little pain it caused. A braver Bernie would take his hand and make a fuss because-- _because_...

  
Bernadetta's thoughts screech to a halt. She shakes her head and squirms under the covers of the small bed, pulling the sheets all the way up to her chin. _Well, a braver Bernie doesn't exist so it doesn't matter._

  
She knows she'd never be good enough for someone like Raphael anyway. 

  
Bernadetta stares up at the ceiling for what feels like hours. She tosses and turns, but she cannot get comfortable. She never sleeps well in new places. She wishes she could be more like Linhardt in that regard, able to drop and sleep anywhere. She curls onto her side, gaze landing on Raphael's sleeping form. 

  
Her eyes trace the steady rise and fall of his chest. Its rhythm soothes her, and eventually she lets her eyes close.

  
When Bernadetta comes to, her eyes struggle for focus. Her arms feel heavy, like iron rods of dead weight. She tries to lift one and finds it won't move. She tries the other, and her wrist chafes against something rough and familiar. 

  
_Oh, Goddess no. No, not again_ , she thinks frantically, tugging both arms. Her wrists scream against the rope binding her to the chair.

  
Fear sinks itself like teeth into her throat. She gazes out into the room, and there he is, standing there like he always does, eyes dark and cold. 

  
"Father," she rasps, "please." 

  
She jerks her head around the room, searching for her nanny, her mother, anyone who could help her. The room begins to fill with water. Bernadetta tries to scream but nothing comes out.

  
She shakes uncontrollably. Suddenly, her legs feel as if they are on fire. She stares with horror as a dozen burning arrows are driven straight through her thighs, pinning her to the chair. Fresh blood spills off her skin and into the water at her ankles.

  
_Oh, Goddess. Someone help me!_

  
"Father, please! I'm sorry! I'm _SORRY_!"

  
Bernadetta jolts up in bed, mouth open in a scream. She stares at her trembling hands. _No rope burns. It...it was just another nightmare._ Her hands tentatively slip beneath the sweat-soaked sheets to check her thighs. They are whole and unwounded. _It wasn't real, Bernie. It wasn't real. It's okay. It wasn't real._

  
Bernadetta gulps air into her lungs and sags bodily against the headboard. Her eyes are wet with fresh tears. She doesn't trust her arms to wipe them away, not now at least. She shudders against the chill on her sweat-dampened skin. The covers will be of no help to her now, soaked as they are.

  
There's a small rustle in the room. Bernadetta jumps at the sound.

  
Raphael shifts up onto his elbow, voice heavy with sleep. "Hey...bad dream?" 

  
Bernadetta freezes, half-hoping that if she doesn't reply, he will simply go back to sleep and pretend this never happened. Pretend he never saw. She's already pathetic enough as it is. She'd hate for him to think--

  
"You okay, Bernie?" Raphael really sits up now, watching her from across the tiny room in the dark. His voice is quieter than normal, soft and full of concern.

  
Bernadetta doesn't know how to answer that. Maybe she should lie. Before she can say anything, Raphael scoops his blanket up from the floor and comes over to her. In the dim moonlight, his eyes find hers. She can still feel the tear tracks on her face. She turns away quickly, body flooding with shame.

  
"Mind if I sit with you?" 

  
Bernadetta doesn't trust her voice so she simply nods. The bed creaks underneath Raphael's weight. He stretches out his legs, feet thrust far over the lip of the short bed, then leans his back against the headboard. Their arms don't touch, but she can feel the warmth radiating off him. 

  
It's comforting.

  
To her surprise, he throws his blanket, clean and dry, over her legs and gently tucks it around her shoulders. She blinks, lips parting open in question. 

  
"I'll be here," Raphael tells her. "Nothing bad will happen while I'm around." 

  
And the things is, Bernadetta wholeheartedly believes him. Bernadetta has always been safe around him. Always. Bernadetta blinks back tears of gratitude. _I know_ , she wants to say. 

  
Bernadetta allows herself to lean against Raphael's arm. The blanket smells nice. It smells of him. She can feel her body begin to relax into his warmth.

  
She wonders if, maybe, this is what it's like to feel loved.

  
Soon, she is asleep.

* * *

  
Bernadetta wakes to find herself clinging to Raphael like she would her favorite teddy bear. She stiffens in place, gray eyes going wide. 

  
To her immense relief, Raphael appears to be sleeping. There are dark circles under his eyes, and she wonders how late he stayed up watching over her. He sleeps with one hand on his belly, where it rests dangerously close to one of her own. Mortified, she gingerly tries to retract the offending appendage without waking him. As she levers off the mattress, she realizes with a flush of embarrassment that she has been using his arm as a pillow (an incredibly muscular pillow) this entire time. Despite it all, Bernadetta feels more well-rested than she has in weeks. 

  
_Is this what it would be like to wake up to next to him everyday? Would it always be this cozy? If we were a...a couple?_ Her skin feels hot at the very thought. It's a fantasy, of course. Because, well, she's nothing but a silly, useless crybaby that can't even manage sleeping by herself. And Raphael, well, he's so friendly, confident, and capable. Everyone seems to adore him. 

  
She absently tucks the blanket around him, thinking that she needs to thank him for sharing it with her in the first place.

  
With some reluctance, Bernadetta pulls herself out of bed and decides to work on packing up for their journey back to Garreg Mach.

* * *

  
When Raphael's parents died in that accident, he had to make a tough call. His grandparents had recently retired, and Maya and him were just kids, really. They hardly had any income to rely on, and couldn't afford the taxes on the old family estate. So Raphael sold it, downsized to a tiny cottage and shared a room with his sister until they'd saved up enough to send him to the Academy.

  
In those early days without his parents, he'd been the rock, holding everyone together. Putting one foot in front of the other. He didn't know what else to do but keep going. 

  
Maya used to have nightmares. She used to dream awful, horrible things - reliving the grief and pain nearly every night. She used to wake up in that creaky, secondhand bed crying and soaked in cold sweat. It was all he could do to go to her, and sit with her. Let her lean on him, tuck her into his blanket, and tell her he was there.

  
Raphael knows the sound and sight of a nightmare. He knows it now like the back of his own hand. 

  
Raphael hears a familiar quiet sob, ragged breaths gasping out into the silent night air. It sucks him from his own dreamless sleep in an instant. For one, dizzying moment, he thinks maybe he's back in his hometown cottage.

  
But then it all comes back to him.

  
He lifts himself by the elbow, heart half-breaking to see Bernadetta curled over herself in that tiny bed, nothing more than a small body shaking. He can see the muted gleam of tear tracks on her face, even in the dark. 

  
"Hey...bad dream?"

* * *

  
Raphael rubs the sleep from his eyes. He must have fallen asleep at some point, after Bernadetta did. He sits up in bed, surprised to see their belongings already packed and ready to go.

  
Bernadetta is nowhere to be seen. 

  
Raphael swings himself off the bed, stretching the stiffness out of his back. The moment he opens the bedroom door, the aroma hits him like a brick wall. 

  
His face splits into a grin. "Is that breakfast I smell?" 

  
The elderly woman, their host Adalina, greets him from her post at an ancient stove-top. She scoops two fat slices of bacon from the still-sizzling pan and slides them onto a large plate. Raphael feels his mouth begin to water.

  
"Good morning, my dear. Please, sit down. Have something to eat before you go," says Adalina, shuffling the plate over to the kitchen table.

  
Raphael cannot believe his eyes. "Is that really for us?"

  
"Of course," Adalina chuckles, wiping the grease from her hands onto an old rag. She gestures at someone just out of view. "My dear, come join us."

  
There's a recognizable squeak from the other room, and moments later, Bernadetta's enormous gray eyes peek at him from behind the wall. Raphael meets her apprehensive look with a reassuring grin. Bernadetta scoots out from behind the wall and approaches the table. Raphael helps Adalina into a seat before pulling up a chair for Bernadetta.

  
Bernadetta ducks her head at the gesture. "T-thank you, Raphael."

  
While Raphael stuffs himself with breakfast, Adalina turns toward Bernadetta and tilts her head. "Where did you learn your archery, my dear?" 

  
"Oh, um," Bernadetta clears her throat, "my uncle taught me...a long time ago."

  
"My old eyes may not see much anymore, but I did see you fell the beast. It was quite impressive." She pats Bernadetta's hand, a fond gesture that reminds him of his own grandmother. 

  
Raphael tries to swallow down his bite quickly, to chip in before Bernadetta begins to feel too overwhelmed by this interaction. 

  
To his surprise, Bernadetta doesn't flinch or shrink away from the physical contact, although she smiles rather nervously. "O-oh, thank you, ma'am."

  
Although Raphael finishes his food quickly, he waits until his dining companions are finished before getting up from the table. He collects their plates and utensils before Adalina starts to try ushering him away.

  
"Please, you're a guest," she protests, already bustling to her feet. 

  
"Ma'am, cleaning up is the least I can do," Raphael reponds jovially. "I'll have these washed up in no time!"

  
Bernadetta and Adalina have no choice but to watch him disappear toward the kitchen sink with all their dining-ware. Raphael makes short work of the dishes. He's used to breezing through chores, even from before his time at the Academy. The small basin where he scrubs down the plates reminds him of the cottage back home. In fact, a lot of things about this little house remind him of his life with his grandparents. Everything from the chips in the porcelain, to the water damage on the window sills. In some ways, it feels more like home than the monastery does.

  
Beyond the window, Raphael notices a pile of unchopped wood. Although the dishes are clean and dry, he doesn't feel like he can just leave just yet. Raphael turns to ask Bernadetta if she'd be alright if he stayed to help out a little longer. He catches the two in what seems to be mid-conversation.

  
"Oh, that's r-really pretty, ma'am," Bernadetta murmurs. "Do you mind if I...?" Her elegant fingers trace the edges of a lace doily that Adalina holds up between them. When Adalina leaves it in Bernadetta's hands, Bernadetta lifts it to the light, lips parting in amazement. 

  
"It's very difficult to get lace this fine now," Adalina explains, "with the recent war and all."

  
Bernadetta nods, then frowns suddenly at something she sees on the doily.

  
"Oh, don't worry about that, my dear," Adalina cuts in. "It tore a long time ago. My vision is too poor to properly darn it."

  
"I...um, I could fix it for you, if you'd like!" Bernadetta replies. "It wouldn't take me long, and it'd be the least I could do after all you've done for us."

  
Raphael smiles, surprised that Bernadetta is in such a good mood today, and decides to take advantage of the moment to see to that unchopped lumber.

* * *

  
"You really shouldn't have," Adalina says, her eyes suspiciously watery. 

  
"Happy to help," Raphael says, dusting wood chips off his hands. He leaves a neat stack right outside the cottage door, so the logs will be easy to retrieve. He pushes himself back into standing position, watching Bernadetta sew from her place at the table. She glances up, and when their eyes meet, she smiles. Raphael feels a strange lump form in his throat, and his heart suddenly sounds very loud to his ears.

  
Bernadetta doesn't look up again until she's finished with her mending. She holds the lace carefully out in her open palms to Adalina.

  
"You make a fine tailor, my dear," Adalina says, and Bernadetta's cheeks warm at the compliment. 

  
"Oh, it's nothing, really," Bernadett mumbles, tucking some hair behind her ear.

  
There's a thoughtful pause as Adalina regards them both, her eyes full of maternal warmth. "What a wonderful sweethearts you two make. Where did you find each other?"

  
Bernadetta's gray eyes go comically wide.

  
Raphael can feel himself turning red to the tips of his ears. "We're not," he stammers. "Not sweethearts. Just...just comrades. Friends!"

  
He looks to Bernadetta for her endorsement of the same but is surprised to see her now hiding her face in both hands, unable to look at him. There's a painful twinge in his chest at the realization, that...that she's embarrassed to be mistaken for being _with him_. Because _of course_ she'd be. Bernadetta is beautiful and extraordinarily talented. If she wanted a sweetheart, she could easily do better than him. Raphael's convinced she could have her pick of anyone in the world.

  
Raphael knows that he's not conventionally handsome. He hears what people say about him when they think he's not paying attention. Dullard, brute. It's usually something about his appearance, but every once in a while, it's about his intelligence or lack thereof. The thing is, Raphael knows. He knows that he's not handsome. He knows he's not clever. Most of the time, those things don't matter to him. But, when he's with Bernie, sometimes they do.

  
Raphael feels a sharp sting of disappointment, and maybe something else. Something he doesn't want to stare at too closely, for fear of burning himself. To distract from it, he forces out a laugh, rubbing the back of neck. "It's not like that between us." He hates the way it sounds, as hollow as the ache in his chest.

  
Adalina looks at him with both surprise and remorse. "Ah, that's a shame. You see, I have an intuition about these things." Her gaze slides over to Bernadetta, who still has her hands clapped over her own face. "But like anyone else, I can make mistakes."

* * *

  
The journey out of the village requires them to travel on foot. Raphael offers to carry both of their packs as the hike down the mountain becomes more treacherous, for which Bernadetta is grateful. She is not so sure-footed as she skitters and slides across the rubble left by the Demonic Beast they were originally dispatched to neutralize.

  
Raphael is surprisingly nimble as they clamber over boulders and cut through narrow ravines back to the main road. 

  
"You doing okay, Bernadetta?"

  
"Y-yeah," she manages, her fingers clinging desperately to a scar in the rock as she tries to set her feet down on a particularly uneven surface. 

  
"Here." Raphael reaches out his hand.

  
She stares at it, wide-eyed and too irrationally nervous to take it. She swallows a lump in her throat, and finally presses her hand into his. It's warm and calloused, and she misses it immediately the second he pulls away. Bernadetta's heart flutters miserably in her chest as she watches Raphael continue down the mountain ahead of her. She quickly looks down at the hand that held his, for however brief a moment it was, and cradles it to her chest.

  
She thinks back to the conversation at the cottage, about how Adalina thought they looked like sweethearts. Neither of them have mentioned it since.

  
_Imagine! If we were...if only..._ Bernadetta feels heat rush to her cheeks. _But Raphael refuted it so adamantly._ She glances up again, studying the golden locks that curl against the back of his neck. _I thought...I thought for a moment when I looked that he was blushing. Maybe I was seeing things. Because blushing means...it means...!_

  
"Raphael," she utters suddenly, so quietly she wonders if she might need to repeat herself. "Um..."

  
Raphael stops in his tracks, craning his neck over his shoulder to look at her. "Want me to slow down, Bernadetta?"

  
Bernadetta hops over a rock to get closer to him. "N-no, it's nothing like that." She fiddles with the tassels around her waist as Raphael resumes the walk, slowing down enough so that they are side by side. _How do I say this?_

  
"Watch your step," Raphael warns her, gently sticking his arm out in front of her. Lost in her thoughts, Bernadetta doesn't realize until too late that she has clutched both hands to Raphael's arm.

  
They stare at each other for a beat. Bernadetta feels like she could melt beneath that wonderful golden gaze. Raphael's eyes dart to his arm, where she hasn't let go, then dart back to her.

  
Bernadetta coughs quickly, releasing him. "T-thank you, Raphael." Her heart is beating like a drum; it feels like it's pounding right up her own throat. If she's not careful, it'll fall right into his open hands. 

  
Bernadetta wants to know. She's never wanted to know anything more in her entire life. She wants to know if he likes her, if he ever could.

  
"Don't worry about it," he says, a little hoarse. 

  
"W-what did you think about that?"

  
Raphael blinks at her, dumbfounded. "About...what?" he asks carefully.

  
"About...about what she said about us?" Bernadetta says, nearly tripping over her words. 

  
It takes Raphael a second to catch onto what she means, but when he does, his face turns quite red.

  
_Is that...is he blushing?_

  
"The...sweetheart thing?" There it is again. The stammer.

  
She nods, the smallest of nods. Bernadetta holds her breath, waiting for him to continue. 

  
"I...uh..." Raphael looks, simply put, like he wants to be anywhere but here. 

  
_Oh, I'm making him uncomfortable._ Her eyes lower to the ground, and it hurts suddenly. Everything about this hurts. _Of course, he's trying to spare my feelings. Who'd want to be with someone like me, after all?_

  
"It...it was silly, right?" Bernadetta stutters. "Never mind, it was...I was just curious...what you thought." She forces out a laugh that sounds rather bitter to her own ears. _So much for a braver Bernie._

  
And that's that.

  
They continue on in silence.

  
The hand Bernadetta kept curled to her chest slowly slips back down to her side. The air feels cold on her fingertips. Everything about her feels brittle right now, like an eggshell that has been hollowed out. Bernadetta keeps her gaze straight head, trying to control the trembling of her lips. 

  
The path up ahead is narrower than before, made so by two adjacent boulders. Bernadetta thinks nothing of it. She has always been small, and small spaces don't give her pause. Raphael, on the other hand, twists to the side, sucking in a breath to squeeze past at the same time she does.

  
Their fingers brush against each other and Bernadetta feels an electric trill go up on her spine at the touch. She jerks away out of surprise, trying to catch her breath at the sudden onslaught of all these feelings she has been trying very hard not to feel.

  
"Sorry about that," Raphael says. Again, the stammer.

  
Bernadetta blinks up at him, unable to say a word in response. At her side, her fingers traitorously twitch toward his. She swallows audibly and looks away, certain she is blushing uncontrollably.

  
"Actually," Raphael begins, "I have to tell you something."

  
Bernadetta freezes, a cold sweat breaking out in every pore. She cannot calm her racing heart. She stares as his fingers slowly but surely curl around hers. She doesn't even dare blink.

  
It feels like a dream.

  
"I don't think it was silly," Raphael says, hardly above a whisper. She's never heard him so quiet. She leans forward without even realizing it. "I thought...anyone would be lucky to have you as their sweetheart."

  
Bernadetta truly feels like she could faint. But she won't. She can't. Not _now_.

  
"Anyone?" she echoes.

  
"Do you..." Raphael's grip on her hand tightens, warming her all the way down to her toes. She squeezes his hand back. He _is_ blushing. Very hard, in fact. "I mean, I wonder if you'd be open to me being that person?"

  
"Yes," she breathes. A laugh. "Yes!"

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Memories We Made (song, not album) by No Spirit while writing this. I highly recommend it as mood music for this piece. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efjIR3MPWTE
> 
> Shout-out to Iris and Ruu for always supporting my Raphadetta shenanigans. This one's for you. <3
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated and incredibly motivational. Hope you are all well and safe.


End file.
